


TESTING

by rubyelf



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyelf/pseuds/rubyelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Elrond asks Legolas and Aragorn to assist him with determining the suitability of one of the two Gondorian brothers to be part of the fellowship, and Legolas and Aragorn entirely fail to follow his instructions. </p>
<p>(Part of the Testing AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	TESTING

TITLE: TESTING  
AUTHOR: [](http://rubyelf.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubyelf**](http://rubyelf.livejournal.com/)  
CHARACTERS: Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir, Legolas, Elrond  
RATING: NC-17  
WARNINGS: AU. Definitely NOT ruby-verse.   
SUMMARY: Written for the slashy_santa Ardor in August 2011 exchange  
DISCLAIMER: Characters do not belong to me. They are just here to play.

 

Elrond stood at the window of his study, looking down on the courtyard below, watching the two arrivals to Rivendell as they were led past. Behind him, the dark-haired Ranger clad in black leather and the blue-eyed elf archer leaned back in their chairs, waiting for the Lord of Rivendell to speak.

“They cannot both go,” he said.

Aragorn nodded. “One of them must return to Gondor. Denethor walks rather close to the edge of madness these days, and I would not have him there without one of his sons to watch him.”

Legolas stretched out his long legs and reached for the glass of wine which he had procured for himself without asking first from Elrond’s cabinet. “Which one shall we take with us? From what I’ve heard, the older one is the fiercer warrior and the more decisive, while the younger one is quieter and more cautious.”

“They are both fierce warriors,” Aragorn said. “The only difference is that the younger one does not wish to be.”

“Well, why take the reluctant warrior when we could have the…”

“Because Boromir is hard-headed and will never admit to weakness or ask for aid,” Elrond interrupted. “However, I fear that Faramir’s thoughtfulness may be a hindrance to him on this journey… some decisions must be made even when logical consideration would make them appear to be wrong.”

“So what would you like us to do about this?” Legolas asked, tipping the remainder of the wine from the bottle into his glass.

“He would probably like you to stop drinking all his best elderberry wine,” Aragorn said, giving the blond elf a sharp look, which Legolas ignored.

“I would like you two to test these two arrivals,” Elrond said, nodding toward the courtyard, where the two sons of the Steward of Gondor were being greeted by ladies of the house as their horses were led off to the stables.

“How would you like us to test them?” Aragorn asked.

“We could see which one can drink more,” Legolas suggested.

“The ability to become intoxicated is not a skill that I anticipate will be useful on this quest,” Elrond replied, scowling at the Mirkwood elf. “Your manners have not improved since I last saw you, Prince. Your father would not be impressed.”

“Perhaps that’s why he’s had me out in the forest hunting orcs and guarding weird beasts like that ‘Gollum’ creature.”

“Which you let get away,” Aragorn said, glancing at him.

“I did not. I was on leave back at the palace, and there’s a very handsome young elf that could gladly vouch for that if you asked him, although…”

Elrond sighed. “May I speak, please?”

Legolas waved his hand.

“Thank you. I was attempting to tell you about how I believe these two must be tested. It’s not their skill in battle I wonder about, as they have both proven themselves powerful warriors and leaders among men. This journey will test the hearts, the minds, and the will of those who undertake it. One of these brothers is more suited for the Fellowship, and the other must return to Gondor and manage things there until you, Aragorn, are able to reach Minas Tirith.”

“How are we to test those things?” Legolas asked. “Play chess with them?”

“I believe you’ll find my suggestion much more intriguing, young Greenleaf.”

“Oh?” Legolas said hopefully.

“Most men can act nobly when all goes as it should and they know their direction,” the older elf said. “Very few can do it when they are frustrated, confused, and vulnerable.”

“So you intend for us to… what? Torment them and then disappoint them?” Aragorn asked.

“I intend to find out how they react when they are not acting as leaders but as mortal men who do not understand what is happening to them or why,” Elrond said. “This quest will place all of you in that position, and I need to know which one can withstand better when everything he thinks he knows is pulled out from under him. Meeting you and learning of your heritage will be part of that, Estel, and I want you to keep that information a secret for now, but I need to know much more.”

“I hope that what you have in mind involves at least some entertainment for us,” Legolas said.

Elrond gave him a sharp look. “The fate of the world is at stake. Your entertainment is not my primary concern.”

Legolas feigned looking hurt. “That is fine and good, but we cannot have at least a bit of fun as we go?”

..........  
   
Boromir glared at his brother as a pair of dark-haired young elf maidens led them down one of Rivendell’s long halls. Faramir pretended not to notice.

“I told you to stay in Minas Tirith with father,” he muttered.

Faramir smiled. “I remember something like that.”

“Then why did you follow me here?”

Faramir raised his eyebrows. “Because it was my dream, brother, not yours, and I should have been the one to follow it.”

“You could be killed. There’s something evil here; you said so yourself.”

The elves stopped and nodded toward one of the doors.

“This is to be your room, Lord Boromir. And this one across the hall is yours, Lord Faramir.”

Faramir nodded politely to the maidens; Boromir was too tired and ill-tempered for such niceties and only muttered something about a bath.

“You will find, Lord Boromir, that the maids have prepared a hot bath for each of you in your rooms, and there should be a meal and some ale awaiting you when you are done bathing.”

Boromir cheered up somewhat. “Well, now, that’s proper hospitality.”

“We hope to have some clean and reasonably well-fitting clothes for both of you in time for you to join Lord Elrond at supper,” the other maiden said, smiling and watching the tall, broad-shouldered soldier from beneath lowered eyelashes. When he did not respond to the suggestive glance, she laughed and turned away, escorting her companion off down the hall.

“Pretty things,” Faramir said, watching the elves depart.

Boromir shrugged. “Father says elves are not to be trusted.”

“Father says a lot of things.”

“Go get a bath, little brother. You smell like a horse.”

“At least I don’t smell like the wrong end of a horse, unlike you.”

Boromir took a half-hearted swing at him, but Faramir ducked away easily and disappeared into his room.

The younger man took a long moment to admire the simple elegance of the room, with its high, curved ceiling decorated with carvings of leaves and branches, its broad, arched windows with sills broad enough to sit on, and the furniture all lightly burnished wood with loops and curls of vines etched across the surface. The bed was wide, with plain white sheets, and after weeks of sleeping on the ground listening to Boromir’s snoring, it offered a blissful rest that made him long for night time. On top of the dresser he found several neatly folded night shirts, and then he made his way into the bathroom, where a large wooden tub filled with steaming water awaited him. He wasted no time in stripping off his filthy clothes and settling slowly into the bath, savoring the feeling of the dirt lifting off his skin.

He had no idea how long he had soaked there, but the water was beginning to get cold when he heard the outer door open and close. He sat up abruptly, looking for something to cover his nakedness, but before he had a chance, there was a tall man with long, dark hair, dressed in the dark leather gear of a Ranger, standing in the bathroom doorway.

“I… what… who are you?” Faramir demanded. “You’re not an elf.”

“Very observant,” the man said, setting down a pile of clean, white towels on a stand next to the bath.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Aragorn, but they call me Estel here.”

“Aragorn?” Faramir repeated, thinking that the name sounded familiar.

“And you, I believe, are Faramir, Denethor’s youngest son. I met you once, but you were a very small lad.”

Faramir frowned, reaching for one of the towels. “You’re not that old.”

“Oh?”

The man’s gray eyes followed him as he climbed out of the bath and wrapped the towel around himself. Suddenly, the realization struck him like a blow.

“Aragorn. Son of Arathorn…”

The older man smiled. “You know your history.”

“I’ve heard rumors…” Faramir murmured, then realized with horror that he was addressing the uncrowned King of Men in nothing but a towel. “Oh… I must… damnit, those girls have taken my clothes…”

“They’ll bring you some more,” Aragorn said. “Relax, my friend.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here. Elrond has raised me as his own child.”

“No, I mean… here in my bathroom.”

“Oh,” Aragorn said, chuckling. “Observing that the stories I heard about the Sons of Gondor being strikingly handsome men seem to be true.”

Faramir flushed and looked at the floor. He knew that many of the soldiers seemed to find him desirable and he had been propositioned before, but had not accepted any of those offers. Now, though, with the other man’s steel-gray gaze stripping him even more naked than he had been in the bath, he found himself shaken and confused.

“I look forward to seeing you at dinner,” Aragorn said, and was gone, leaving Faramir alone and, to his puzzlement and embarrassment, thinking rather inappropriate thoughts about the lean, steady-eyed Ranger-King.

.....

Boromir did not take the news about Faramir’s encounter with the future King of Gondor very well, but when he had finished shouting, he grudgingly agreed that the only action to be taken at the moment was to keep a close eye on this man and see what his intentions might be.

“I had a visitor too,” Boromir admitted, and they walked toward the dining hall.

“Oh?”

“An elf. Said his name was Legolas. Didn’t look like the other elves around here, though… they’re mostly dark-haired, and he’s blond… very blond, and blue-eyed.”

“You took some time to observe details,” Faramir noted, laughing.

Boromir turned red. “I was just asking you, the elf-expert.”

“Well, if he’s that fair, he’s probably not a Noldor elf like the ones who live here in Rivendell. He may be Sindarin.”

“Said he was from Mirkwood.”

“Hmm. He doesn’t sound like a wood elf, and the only Sindarin elves in Mirkwood are the royal family. At least, that’s what Mithrandir told me.”

“Mithrandir… that crazy old bat?” Boromir chuckled.

Faramir scowled. “He knows…”

They were interrupted by a slender figure dressed in silver and green who stepped into their path. The elf cocked his head and regarded the two men curiously, and Faramir studied the elaborate braids in the well-groomed blond hair, trying to remember what the wizard had taught him about the symbolism of different braiding styles. The blue eyes regarded them with some amusement until Boromir spoke, his voice rough.

“Err, Faramir, this is the elf I was telling you about.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the elf said, bowing. “And you are correct in your general knowledge of elves, my friend… I am in fact the youngest son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood.”

“You didn’t tell me you were a prince,” Boromir said accusingly, annoyed that Faramir had known something about this curious elf that he had not.

“You didn’t ask,” Legolas said mildly, enjoying the man’s flush of frustration. Aragorn had been correct in his assessment when he noted that Boromir might be the kind of mortal to pique his elf friend’s interest; everything about the man spoke of strength and bluntness and bravado, and Legolas found this unexpectedly attractive.

“Are you coming to supper?” he asked. “Elrond sent me to find you. He thought you might be weary and not want to tolerate the noise and fuss of the main dining hall, and suggested he join you in one of the smaller rooms so you can talk in peace.”

Faramir sighed, relieved that he would not have to listen to the chatter and racket of a busy dining hall tonight, when all he really wanted to do was sleep. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Good,” Legolas said cheerfully. “Right down this hall and to the left. Aragorn and I will be joining you shortly.”

“Aragorn? What for?” Boromir demanded.

“Well, to speak about our mutual concerns,” Legolas said, as if it was quite obvious.

The brothers found their host sitting at a small table set with covered dishes and several bottles of wine. He rose and motioned for them to sit.

“It’s an honor to have you here, sons of Denethor,” he said. “I am Elrond, and you are guests in my home, but you know you are not here for a casual visit.”

Faramir nodded. “I had a dream…”

Elrond nodded. “There is some elf blood left in the line of Stewards, and the visionary talent is stronger in you than in any other man I’ve met. Your vision warned you of danger…”

“It did not warn you of quite how much danger,” Aragorn said, striding into the room with Legolas on his heels.

“Estel,” Elrond said fondly. “Gentlemen, have you met my foster son, Estel?”

“I did,” Faramir said, “although he introduced himself under a rather different name.”

Elrond gave Aragorn a stern look. “We were to discuss your heritage with them later, Estel.”

Aragorn shrugged insolently. “Faramir figured it out. He is an intelligent young man, after all, and well-learned.”

The way his gray eyes flickered over the younger man’s body as he spoke sent a strong shiver through Faramir, and he swallowed hard. Their host ignored this exchange, however, and motioned for them all to sit before pouring all of them generous glasses of wine.  
The discussion over the meal wandered, speaking of the One Ring and of Mordor, then of Hobbits and the strange creature known as Gollum, and then of the wizard Saruman in his captured stronghold of Isengard. After a while and a great deal of wine, though, the discussion did not seem to be maintaining any coherent path at all. Faramir mused that elf wine must be stronger than Gondorians were accustomed to, because Boromir’s face was flushed and his gestures expansive, and Faramir found himself feeling distinctly light-headed and pleasantly fogged. He also realized, in an absent sort of way, that the wine also seemed to have had an effect on his lower body, and that under Aragorn’s appreciative glances his breeches were growing rather snug in certain regions.

“Our guests are weary, Elrond,” Legolas said, rising. “Perhaps we should return them to their rooms.”

Elrond gave Legolas a stern glance, hoping that this would remind the Mirkwood elf that he had responsibilities tonight. “Yes, by all means. It appears the wine has had both a relaxing and a… stimulating effect on them.”

Faramir was at least aware enough to be vaguely embarrassed, but Boromir missed the comment entirely, as he was busy draping his arm over Legolas in a companionable way, seemingly forgetting his past concerns about elves.

“I do believe going back to our rooms would be a wise idea,” Faramir agreed unsteadily.

“Definitely,” Aragorn said, taking the young man’s arm and escorting him toward the hall. “You and your brother have had a long journey and need some time to rest.”

Faramir realized, however, that he was being led in the opposite direction of his room. He heard his brother protest.

“Hey! Where are you taking him?”

“I thought that since your brother is a scholar, he might like to see Lord Elrond’s telescope before he retires.”

Boromir thought for a moment, but could not quite manage to come up with a reason why this suggestion was not acceptable. “All right, then. But you’d better bring him back to his room afterward.”

“Of course,” Aragorn said politely. Before Boromir could say anything else, Legolas had taken his arm and was leading him in the other direction.

“You would like to see the telescope, wouldn’t you?” Aragorn asked, as they made their way down the arched hallway, patches of twilight sky dotted with stars visible through the windows.

“I would like to see it… Mithrandir told me there were such things. But I’m not sure I’m in any condition to properly appreciate it tonight, after…”

Aragorn smiled and opened a door, motioning Faramir inside. The room was a small one with a fire burning low in the stone hearth, bookshelves along the walls, and comfortable leather chairs inviting one to settle down with a book. At the window, however, stood an odd device, perched on long wooden legs, with a barrel like a miniature cannon set with curved glass lenses. Studying it, Faramir noticed it was set on a pivot so it could be turned to look at different parts of the sky.

“I’m not sure I should touch it,” he said. “My hands… are not very steady at the moment.”

“I will steady them,” Aragorn said, and Faramir was startled at how close the voice was. He spun to face the older man and was hit with a wave of dizziness. Aragorn laid a hand on his shoulder and laughed warmly.

“Easy, young one. Your brother would be most displeased if I allowed you to be harmed.”

Faramir looked up and found himself captured by the steel-gray eyes that fixed on his, while the man’s hand slid up to rest against his neck.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Looking at you,” Aragorn said, smiling. “You are very handsome, and rather young, and I know you have been raised among soldiers. Surely you have been with men before? There is no shame in it.”

Faramir stuttered. “No… “

“Have you been with women before?”  
“Well, I have…  the men hire whores to come to the camps sometimes. I… well, things didn’t go quite as…”

“You do not seem terribly appalled by the idea of being with a man,” Aragorn said, running his thumb across Faramir’s cheek. His eyes were bright and boring into the younger man’s heart, and Faramir realized with a start that this was not any ordinary man; this was Aragorn, the uncrowned king, heir of Isildur.

“Do you want this?” he asked quietly.

Faramir blinked. “I… don’t know.”

“Would you like me to step away now and let you go back to your room?”

“No…”

The man learned forward, his hand on Faramir’s jaw, and brought their lips together. Faramir shivered, but found himself unable to pull away. Aragorn’s mouth on his was strong and demanding, and he yielded without protest as the other man’s hands slid down to his waist and pulled him closer until their bodies were pressed together. Only then did Faramir realize that his hardening cock was pressed against Aragorn, and he jerked back, but Aragorn kissed him again as his hands got a good grip on Faramir’s ass and pulled the younger man firmly against him, letting him feel that he was just as hard and just as excited. Faramir gasped at feeling the hard length rubbing against his thigh.

“You like this,” Aragorn said, his voice low and commanding.

Faramir nodded, feeling Aragorn’s lips brushing his as he spoke.

“I will be your king one day,” he whispered.

For some reason, these words washed over Faramir and he moaned, pressing closer as Aragorn’s hand came up to stroke his hair.

“Is that what you want, young Faramir? You don’t want a whore to do your bidding. You want a king to command you. You have found no one worthy of your surrender until now. Am I worthy?”

“You are the king,” Faramir murmured.

“That’s not what I asked,” Aragorn said, his voice taking an edge as his hand gripped Faramir’s hair and pulled his head back, baring his throat to Aragorn’s lips.

“You are my king.”

Aragorn smiled. “That’s much better.”

.....  
   
Boromir followed Legolas down the hall, studying the lean but muscular legs and buttocks that seemed perfectly designed for the thin and close-fitting green breeches. The elaborately braided blond hair that spilled down the elf’s back was as soft and fine as any woman’s, but the wiry figure was definitely male. Boromir knew more about the latter than the former;  he had spent most of his life with soldiers, first training with them as a boy, then leading them as their Captain as a man. While he’d spent time in the company of women on the rare occasions he was in the city, he had learned from his fellow soldiers to seek companionship among those willing and available, and Legolas had the sort of slim but well-muscled build that he enjoyed.

“You have travelled a long way,” the elf said, glancing back at him.

“So have you. Mirkwood is on the far side of the Misty Mountains, isn’t it?”

Legolas nodded, falling back to walk beside the man. “You and your brother came from Gondor?”

“My brother was not supposed to come,” Boromir said, irritated. “I didn’t find out for almost a week that he was following me. He does not belong here.”

“Wasn’t it his vision that brought you here?”

“Yes, but I would not have him set off into the unknown,” Boromir said. “At least the dangers of Gondor are familiar.”

Legolas opened the door to Boromir’s room and stepped in, letting Boromir step past him before closing the door behind them.

“I don’t recall inviting you in,” the man rumbled, eyes moving over the elf.

“Are you asking me to leave?”

“Suit yourself,” Boromir said, flopping down in one of the chairs in front of the hearth and kicking off his boots.

Legolas smiled and sat down in the other chair. “Would you like another drink?”

Boromir glanced at him. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“No. I’ve found that men have a tendency to perform very poorly when they’re highly intoxicated.”

“Mmm-hmm. And what sort of performance are you expecting from me?”

“You’ve had a long journey with only your brother for company,” Legolas said, grinning. “How long as it been since you felt a hand on you besides your own?”

“My own will serve when there’s nothing else,” the man muttered.

“Ah, but wouldn’t you prefer someone else’s?”

Boromir sat up in his chair and gave the elf a sharp look. The blue eyes did not look away, but caught and held his gaze with a flash of defiance and amusement.

“You are extremely forward, elf. I thought you were a prince.”

“I am not very good at being a prince. But I’m very good at other things. Would you like to find out?”

Boromir laughed. “Did Elrond instruct you to entertain his guests?”

“Elrond does not command me. I do as I please.”

“Oh?”

“And you please me.”

“Do I?”

“Very much,” Legolas said, grinning.

“What is it about me that pleases you?”

Legolas needed no further invitation, but rose easily from his chair and settled himself on Boromir’s lap, straddling the man’s thighs.

“Well, this hair, for one. It’s coarser than an elf’s, but it looks like it would be perfect for grabbing hold of. And this… elves don’t grow beards, so this roughness is quite stimulating. And these shoulders…  and these hands,” he said, lifting one of Boromir’s large hands and studying it. “I am optimistic that you have other things to offer that I have yet to see.”

Boromir laughed. “You aren’t subtle about what you want, elf.”

“Do you want me to be? I can play coy if you like, but it’s such a bore, really, and a terrible waste of time.”

“I agree,” Boromir said, and those large hands were on the elf’s ass, gripping it tightly.  “So what did you have in mind?”

Legolas smiled. “I want you to fuck me, son of Gondor, and I expect you to do it right. If I can walk properly when I leave here, I will be highly disappointed.”

Boromir raised his eyebrows. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“You will find,” Legolas said, pushing his hips against the man, “that elves are far, far more durable than mortals, and that they are fully capable of handling some very rough treatment. I am more concerned about you being too gentle than being too rough.”

Boromir’s grip tightened, past the point where any of his mortal lovers would have protested and squirmed away, but the elf only grinned at him. He found himself thinking of the many times he had heard a partner gasp in the darkness: “Easy, Boromir! You’ll hurt me!” This elf, though, seemed quite unconcerned.

“I think I would very much like to see how much rough treatment you can handle,” the man said, digging his fingers into the smooth curve of the elf’s buttocks.

“Good,” Legolas said. “Then we are in accord.”

.....  
   
Aragorn steered Faramir to one of the leather chairs and sat him down before moving to lock the door to the study, making sure they would not be disturbed. When he returned to Faramir, the young man’s head was tipped back, his eyes closed, but Aragorn knew he was not dozing. He reached out and ran a finger from Faramir’s throat down to the laces of his tunic, and as he began untying them, Faramir’s eyes flew open and stared at him in astonishment.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m undressing you,” Aragorn said, as he pulled the tunic over Faramir’s head, noticing the young man’s lack of resistance and the fact that he even raised his arms to allow it.

“Oh,” Faramir murmured, looking up at him.

Aragorn smiled to himself as he knelt to remove Faramir’s boots. He had known Denethor’s sons were both handsome men, and Mithrandir had spoken fondly of the younger son, noting that he was quiet and thoughtful with a tendency to underestimate himself. Nothing, however, had prepared him for  Faramir’s surprisingly endearing innocence, nor for his willingness to give himself over into Aragorn’s hands. He set the boots aside before sliding his hands up Faramir’s thighs to work on the ties of his breeches. Faramir stared down at him, eyes wide and stunned. Aragorn could not help but think that now, with the young man nearly naked and bewildered, would probably be just about the right time to follow Elrond’s directions and abruptly depart with little in the way of explanation. Faramir’s eyes staring down at him, though, and feeling the man trembling under his touch, he could not bring himself to do it just yet.

“Easy, young Faramir,” Aragorn said, with a reassuring smile. “I will do nothing you do not enjoy. Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said, and set about pulling off the breeches and tossing them aside, leaving the other man entirely naked. Aragorn rose to his feet, and Faramir moved to hunch up and cover himself.

“No, no. Let me look at you.”

Faramir leaned back again in the chair, flushing bright red as Aragorn studied his body with soft murmurs of approval, especially when his eyes made their way down to his hard, eager length.

“You will not hide yourself from me.”

“Yes, sir,” Faramir breathed, closing his eyes. Aragorn had to take a deep breath and steady himself; was it possible for this young one to be more perfectly submissive and willing? He stepped back and began to tug at the laces of his own tunic.

“Sir?”

He looked up to find Faramir sitting up in the chair, watching him shyly but intently. “Yes, Faramir?”

“May… may I do that for you? Please?”

“You may,” Aragorn said, pulse pounding. He forced himself to stand quietly and contain his desire as Faramir rose and began untying the laces. He worked steadily, despite his shaking hands, and in a short time he had removed Aragorn’s boots, and now had his hands on the waistband of his breeches, staring up at him.

“Come on, then,” he said, stroking the soft hair reassuringly. “Can you not tell how much I desire you?”

“I can see that, my Lord,” he said, smiling slightly as he studied the outline of Aragorn’s hard cock through the cloth. “Shall I remove these?”

“Not yet,” Aragorn said. “First, I want you to do something else.”

He moved his hand to the back of Faramir’s head and guided it lightly until the younger man’s nose was pressed against him. Faramir gasped at the feeling of Aragorn’s cock rigid against his cheek through the fabric, but after a moment he realized that Aragorn was breathing hard, his hands unsteady, and he gave into the impulse and raised one hand to stroke the hard length as his hot breath moved over it. Aragorn groaned and gripped Faramir’s hair.

“Is that…”

“That is just fine, Faramir,” he said, reaching down to tug at his breeches and draw out his cock. Faramir’s eyes widened, but he did not draw away, allowing the hot, flushed skin to stroke over his rough cheek.  “Do you want to taste it?”

“I…”

“I will not ask you to do something you don’t want to do.”

Faramir smiled at this reassurance, and he moved his head to allow his tongue to flick cautiously over the head of Aragorn’s cock. Aragorn bit back a moan, not wanting to give away how much power Faramir had over him at this moment; he would have done anything the young man asked of him. Faramir dragged his tongue down the length, tasting, curious, and then growing bolder as he took the head into his mouth and licked at it. Aragorn gasped and forced himself to step back; this was definitely beyond the point where he should have followed Elrond’s instructions.

“You didn’t like that?” Faramir asked, looking anxious.

Good gods, Aragorn thought. “I liked it very much.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

Now would be the time to leave, Aragorn thought to himself, but he didn’t, and after a moment he answered Faramir’s question.

“I have other plans for you.”

“What do you want?” he inquired, noting that something had changed in Aragorn’s eyes.

“I want you to stand up and come over here,” Aragorn said, offering him a hand and leading him to the book-covered table in the center of the room. Faramir stared at the stars through the broad, round window as Aragorn stepped behind him, hands moving down his back, caressing and claiming. One hand slid around to his stomach and then reached for his cock, stroking it lightly. Faramir thrust into the touch, moaning, and Aragorn laughed softly, continuing to slide his hand over the younger man’s length until Faramir was gasping, rocking back against him, only a few strokes away from his release. He released him abruptly, drawing a small sound of protest and disappointment.  
“Soon, young Faramir,” he said, rubbing his back and easing his shoulders down toward the table, until his head was resting on his crossed arms. Aragorn stepped back to admire the sight of the young man bend in submission over the table, and his cock twitched as he saw Faramir unconsciously shift his weight to open himself to Aragorn’s stare.

Faramir heard Aragorn walking across the room, and when he came back, the hands that slid between his buttocks were slick and cool. Faramir started at the touch, but then rocked back again as the fingers slid down to stroke over his sack and around the base of his cock. When he had the young man shuddering eagerly, his hand came back up and began to trace around Faramir’s opening with slippery fingers. Faramir jerked away again, but just as quickly leaned back.

“I will not hurt you.”

“You may do anything you wish to me, my Lord.”

The lad will undo me before I’m even prepared, Aragorn thought to himself, as he carefully slipped a finger into the young man’s body. Faramir cried out, more from surprise than discomfort.

“Relax, young one. Relax your body.”

Faramir took a deep breath, and Aragorn hummed his approval. He worked carefully but briskly, the demands of his own body insisting that he not waste too much more time. Faramir responded beautifully, allowing his body to be opened, touched, stretched and prepared. Without realizing it he was pushing himself back against Aragorn’s fingers, seeking something that the other man had almost but not quite reached.

When Aragorn did find that spot, the sensation flared through him and he grasped at the edge of the table, not hearing the cry that escaped from him. Aragorn smiled and repeated the motion, pleased with the result; he suspected he could probably bring Faramir over the edge just by touching him like this, as sensitive and eager as the young man seemed to be, but that would not satisfy Aragorn’s need, not now. He hurriedly spread oil over himself, urged on by Faramir’s ragged gasps.

“Are you ready, Faramir?”

A breathless nod was the only answer he could give, too lost in sensation to speak. When he felt the head of Aragorn’s cock pressing into him, there was an ache of discomfort, but he ignored it, pressing back and trying to take as much of the man as he could. Aragorn’s intention to take the younger man slowly was ruined; the feeling of Faramir pushing himself back onto his cock was more than he could stand, and he grabbed Faramir’s hips to steady him as he thrust, burying himself in the younger man’s body. Faramir’s cry was one of pain blended with need, and Aragorn stilled, breathing hard and stroking Faramir’s back as he shuddered, trying to relax.

“Yes, Faramir…”

He drew back slightly and thrust again. Faramir gasped and rocked back against him, moaning. Aragorn had a stop for a moment, fighting for control at the feeling of the young man’s body gripping him so tightly, but after a moment he allowed himself to move again. Faramir responded eagerly, matching his thrusts, his back arched and his face buried in his arms to muffle his cries.

“You are beautiful,” Aragorn breathed.

“Please… my Lord… I need…”

Aragorn closed his eyes and increased his pace. He could feel Faramir’s body beginning to tense around him and knew the young man was close to his release, and he knew he should slow down, draw this out, torture Faramir and assert his will, but he had no control of his body anymore. He leaned over Faramir and pushed harder, shoving Faramir against the table. Faramir spoke, incoherent, pleading, and Aragorn reached around and took firm hold of his cock. With only a few strokes, Faramir thrust into his hand with a long, low groan as he came, his body tightening around Aragorn, who gripped the younger man’s hips to steady himself as his release swept over him.

As he regained his senses, Aragorn stepped back, alarmed, and quickly drew Faramir to him, turning him to look at the young man’s face. To his relief, Faramir was flushed, disheveled, but smiling.

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“No, my Lord.”

Aragorn frowned and stroked his face, surprised by his own protectiveness and already hearing Elrond’s disapproving voice in the back of his head. “You don’t need to call me that now, Faramir.”

Faramir looked back at him steadily. “You are my King. That is what I will always call you.”

Aragorn smiled and kissed him, feeling Faramir lean into the kiss. “I think you have earned your rest, young one.”

“The bed in my room did look very comfortable,” Faramir murmured.

“My rooms are just across the hall,” Aragorn said, surprising himself; he had not had any intentions of taking the young man home to his own bed and knew perfectly well that this was likely to cause a great deal of trouble, but he was not ready to send Faramir away.

“You want me to come to your rooms?”

“Yes, I do,” Aragorn answered, even as a voice in the back of his mind demanded to know what he was thinking. This was intended to test Faramir, not to test him, but as he led the younger man to his bedroom and laid down beside him, he knew that Faramir had passed his test, but Aragorn was not at all sure that he had passed his.

.....  
   
“Good gods,” Boromir muttered.

They had not made it far from Boromir’s chair before both of them were stripped from their clothes, and it had taken Legolas very little time to demonstrate to the man that his statements about his ability to drive the man nearly to madness had not been idle boasts. He was sprawled in the chair now, one hand gripping the arm of the chair and the other tangled in the elf’s blond hair as Legolas expertly worked his cock, dragging his tongue over it, drawing back to lick and tease, then abruptly sliding his mouth down over it again. Boromir had no idea how long he’d been doing this, but he knew that Legolas had brought him right to the edge repeatedly, only to back off and let him calm down before starting again. Legolas had decided quite some time ago that he had no intention of following Elrond’s instructions; Boromir was far too attractive, and Legolas rarely found the level of intensity he desired with elf or mortal partners, and the man’s scent and his low moans and the feel of him arching into the elf’s touch convinced him that this was worth any scolding he might receive from the Lord of Rivendell.

“You’re going to kill me,” he groaned. His grip on the elf’s hair would have made any of this other partners howl in pain and fight to get loose, but Legolas seemed oblivious to it.

“Well, did you want something else?” Legolas asked, grinning up at him, his blue eyes bright and almost mocking. “I thought you were going to lounge here and make me to all the work.”

That was all Boromir could take. He jerked the elf back by the hair and surged out of the chair, spinning with surprising speed to catch Legolas still on his knees and shove the elf hard against the chair. His hand in the elf’s hair now pushed it down into the seat, harder than he intended, and he was about to release his grip when he heard the elf’s muffled chuckle.

“That’s more like it, son of Gondor. I told you I could handle it.”

Boromir growled and shoved his cock hard against the firm buttocks pressing back against him. Legolas pushed back hard, demanding. Boromir looked around with some desperation; he wanted very much to fuck the elf through that chair, but he did not have any oil, and he did not want to harm Legolas.

“Oil. The pocket of my tunic,” Legolas said.

“You are a very questionable elf,” Boromir said, grinning, as he reached for the shirt. He fumbled until he found the small bottle and managed to get the top off of it, then poured a generous amount of it down the crack of the elf’s ass. Legolas jumped.

“That’s cold!”

Boromir laughed and slid his fingers through the oil. Legolas growled.

“Get on with it, man.”

“I had intended to prepare you a bit.”

“Stop wasting time.”

Boromir shrugged his shoulders and got a firm grasp on the elf’s narrow hip with one hand while he used the other to guide himself to the tight opening.

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“Stop talking and start fucking, mortal, or I will go find someone else to do it.”

“Fine,” Boromir rumbled, laughing, and he shifted forward and shoved himself forcefully into the lean body beneath him. Legolas cried out, and for a moment Boromir feared he had hurt him after all, but Legolas took only a moment to breathe and adjust before he spoke again.  
“You are bigger than an elf, to be sure. Now, let me find you what you can do with it.”

Boromir tightened his grip on the elf’s hips and drew back before thrusting forward again. He found himself thinking in the back of his mind that elves must have a higher body temperature than men, because Legolas was blissfully hot around his cock as he shifted back, encouraging Boromir to continue. Boromir needed little encouragement, and he quickly set a brutal pace, slamming their bodies together. Legolas arched back and groaned his satisfaction.

“That is much more like it. But you can do better, can’t you?”

Boromir growled and thrust harder. The chair creaked from the force of their motion, but Legolas continued to shove back against him. Boromir felt sweat begin to run over his forehead and into his eyes. The body beneath his hands was lean and slender and smooth, deceptively delicate in appearance, but he was driving into that body with more force than any man or woman would have allowed before, and seemed to welcome it.

“I’m not… hurting you?” he asked, breathless with the effort.

“No. More, Boromir. Harder. Please.”

Good gods, Boromir thought, and began using his hands to yank the elf’s body back against his with each thrust. Legolas gasped and buried his face in the chair.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes… just like that… just like that…”

Boromir jerked the elf back against him again and again, until the chair was starting to slide across the floor, until Boromir felt sweat flowing freely down his back, until his body was screaming for the release he would not permit himself, although he was not sure how much longer he could hold it back. The freedom to take Legolas as he wanted to, as he needed to, threatened to overwhelm him.

“Legolas… I can’t…”

“Yes, Boromir… now…”

The elf groaned as Boromir’s brutal thrusts drove his cock against the chair again and again, until he could hold back no longer, and he surrendered to the release that crashed through him. Boromir felt the wiry body clench hard around his cock and he had no strength left to resist as the tight grip of the elf’s body pulled his overwhelming release from him, burying his face in the smooth muscles of the elf’s back to muffle the long, loud moan that escaped him as he gave his body what it had demanded for so long.

For a long moment neither of them could move. Eventually, though, Legolas stirred and chuckled quietly.

“I told you earlier that if I could walk properly when I left here, I would be highly disappointed.”

“Are you disappointed?” Boromir asked.

“No. I believe I will be as satisfied in that regard as I am currently satisfied with our activities.”

“You…”

“I told you I would not break.”

“Mmm. That was…”

Legolas nodded and sat up as Boromir backed away from him, releasing his tight grip.

“I apologize. You are going to have some rather nasty bruises.”

Legolas shrugged. “They will be gone by morning. Elves heal quickly.”

Boromir was surprised to find that this annoyed him; he had just been thinking to himself that the bruises would remain as his mark on that pale, smooth body long after he had departed.

“Well, if you heal so quickly, perhaps I should keep you here and see if you are recovered enough by morning for me to give you some new bruises to wear.”

Legolas smiled, his hair now unbraided and loose around his face, and Boromir realized that this disheveled appearance was remarkably beautiful. There was something unrestrained and wild flashing in the darkened blue eyes, an echo of Mirkwood and wild creatures under a vast canopy of trees, and Boromir could not remember ever wanting anything so much in his life. After a moment, the elf sat back, as if some sort of decision had been reached.

“Very well. I will be ready if you are, son of Gondor.”

.....  
   
Boromir had not realized that elves did not sleep, and an impatient Legolas awoke him in the gray pre-dawn, demanding that Boromir dispense the bruises he had promised. Boromir, ignoring the aching muscles from the night before, was happy to comply, and although this time was equally intense, the pace was slower, with Boromir seemingly determined to steadily and patiently fuck the elf right through the bed and Legolas happy let him try.

When both of them had managed to get their breathing and their pulses back to something like normal, Boromir sat up and glanced at the window.

“I’m surprised Faramir hasn’t come knocking. He’s always the early riser.”

Legolas yawned, suspecting that Aragorn had probably mangled the intended test just as badly as he had, and probably with more significant consequences, and concluding there was nothing to do now but enjoy the resulting explosions. “Perhaps he’s occupied elsewhere.”

Boromir raised his eyebrows, suddenly alarmed. “You don’t mean he’s with that damned Ranger.”

“You mean the future King of Gondor? He might be. I don’t know. If you recall, I have been here with you all night.”

Boromir rubbed his head. “If than man laid a finger on my brother…”

“I suspect it was a great deal more than a finger,” Legolas said happily, enjoying the man’s growing fury and the fact that Aragorn was going to be in considerably more trouble than he was.

“I swear I will kill him…”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Boromir began grabbing clothes off the floor and pulling them on. “Where is the man’s room?”

“Oh, let me get dressed, and I shall show you.”

.....  
   
Aragorn woke slowly from strange and intense dreams, becoming gradually aware of the warm body stretched out beside him. He rolled over and studied Faramir’s sleeping face, strikingly young and soft in slumber. The younger man seemed to realize he was being watched, and he blinked and glanced over at Aragorn with a dazed expression.

“Are you well, Faramir?”

“Am I really here?”

“Where?”

“Here. Waking up next to you, my Lord.”

“You are, yes. Does that alarm you?”

Faramir closed his eyes and smiled lazily. “No. It pleases me. Very much. But I do not know what…”

He recognized his brother’s impatient and demanding pounding before Boromir reached the fourth blow on the door. His eyes widened and he glanced at Aragorn.

“My brother. He will not be happy.”

Aragorn shrugged; it was far too late now to attempt to avert this disaster. “Let him be unhappy.”

“Answer this door!” Boromir shouted. “Where is my brother?”

Faramir sighed and reached for his breeches. “He will not go away till he’s spoken to me.”

Aragorn nodded. “I understand.”

Boromir stepped back, surprised, when the door suddenly opened, revealing a sleepy-eyed Faramir, hair untidy, wearing only his breeches.

“What do you want, Boromir?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“I think it is none of your business,” Faramir said evenly.

“Is that ignorant, disgusting man in there? Did you let him touch you?” he growled.

Faramir felt a flare of uncharacteristic anger, and he closed the door behind him as he stepped into the hall, forcing Boromir back against the far wall.

“Did I let him touch me?” he repeated, fixing Boromir with a sharp glare. “Did I let him touch me? What did you let your elf companion do to you?”

“That is not at all the same,” Boromir said angrily. “That man…”

Faramir’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I let him touch me. And I let him do anything else he wanted to me. And I will do it again, and again, and again, for as long as he wants it.”

Boromir stared at him, his mouth open, too shocked to speak for a moment. “Faramir…”

“What? You need it laid out for you more clearly, or can you let your imagination fill in the rest?”

Boromir straightened up, enraged. “How dare you let that filthy Ranger…”

Faramir moved with surprising speed, his hands on Boromir’s shoulders, slamming his brother back against the wall. Boromir grunted in astonishment and stared at him, wide-eyed.

“You will not speak of him that way again.”

He released his brother abruptly and turned away. Boromir glared at him. “I demand that you come back to your room right now. You will collect your things and depart for Gondor immediately.”

“No,” Faramir said quietly. “I won’t.”

He opened the door, stepped back inside, and slammed it in Boromir’s face.

“Well,” Legolas said, after a moment. “I assume that was not the response you expected.”

Boromir shot the elf a sharp look and stormed off down the hall. Legolas, amused and thinking that perhaps he could harness some of that rage for one more session in bed with the man, followed him, smiling to himself.

“Legolas,” a voice said.

The elf muttered a curse and stopped in his tracks. “Yes, Lord Elrond?”

“Fetch Estel. The decision as to which man will go with the Fellowship needs to be made immediately.”

“I thought you were going to wait…”

“Well, yes, but that was before you and Estel managed to follow precisely NONE of my instructions. Fetch him immediately and return to my office.”

.....  
   
“You seem to be a bit stiff this morning, my friend,” Aragorn remarked, as Legolas lowered himself rather gingerly into his chair. The elf made a rude gesture at him. Elrond, sitting behind his cluttered desk, sighed and shook his head.

“For a prince and a future king, I would think you would have a bit more decorum.”

Legolas smirked and glanced at Elrond’s wine cabinet. “Is there some decorum in there? It sounds tasty.”

“Perhaps Lord Elrond would like me to slap some decorum into your head,” Aragorn said. “And by the way, did you not have time to brush and braid your hair this morning?”

“No, and probably for the same reason that you did not have time to cover up that bite mark on your shoulder.”

The two glared at each other until Elrond rolled his eyes and spoke.

“When you two are done behaving like children, I have made my decision.”

“Oh?” Legolas said, suddenly interested.

“Yes. Boromir is the stronger warrior, and the more confident in battle and in defending what he believes in. But he does not trust himself and he does not trust others, and on this journey that could become a dangerous liability. I have decided to send Fararmir; he is…”

“No,” Aragorn said.

Both elves stared at him. “What?”

“I said no. Boromir will be traveling with the Fellowship.”

“This is not your choice, Estel,” Elrond said.

“I am making it my choice. I am to lead these people, not you, and this choice will determine how Gondor receives me when I arrive there.”

Elrond sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “Go on.”

“I need Faramir in Gondor. I need him there, waiting for me, preparing his father and his people for my arrival. He is ready to accept me as his… as the King. Boromir is not. If he returns to Gondor, knowing who I am, he will undermine any chance I have of winning over the people whose loyalty I will need to take my throne.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow. Legolas smiled. “He has a point.”

“He does have a point,” Elrond agreed. “You both may go. I will think about this and consult with Erestor.”

They rose to leave.

“Oh,” Elrond added, “and I would suggest neither of you go anywhere near either of those men until my decision has been made final… but I know perfectly well neither of you will obey me, so I won’t bother.”

.....  
   
Three days later, a chill hung in the early morning air as Faramir checked his horse’s saddle before turning to face Aragorn, the hurt naked on his face.

“I still don’t understand why you are sending me away, my Lord.”

Aragorn lowered his head, the words burning him. He had wanted Faramir with him on the journey, there to warm his bedroll at night and to walk at his side during the day, but he knew that his words to Elrond had been true.

“I am not sending you away, Faramir.”

“Then why am I not going with you?”

“Because I need you,” he said, his voice low to keep Boromir and the elves across the clearing from overhearing. “I need you waiting for me in Gondor.”

Faramir sighed. “I will make sure the people are prepared for your arrival, my Lord.”

Aragorn glanced over his shoulder before speaking again. “Faramir… no matter what else awaits me in Gondor when I arrive, I need you to be there. I need to know, no matter how long this journey may be, that you are waiting at the end of it.”

Faramir raised his head and met Aragorn’s eyes, seeking an untruth there, but he did not find it. He nodded slowly. “I will be there, my Lord.”

Aragorn nodded. “These two elves will ride with you as far as Lorien. Galadriel will arrange for your safe passage from there.”

“If I promise to wait,” Faramir said quietly, “you must promise to return.”

“Only death will prevent it, Faramir.”

Across the clearing, Boromir scowled and turned away from the man who stood so intimately close to his brother, hating the way Faramir stared at him with wide, trusting eyes. He was about to stalk away among the trees when he heard a voice behind him and felt a strong hand grab firmly onto one of his buttocks.

“Don’t look so unhappy, son of Gondor. You and I have a long journey together, and I do not appreciate you acting as if you are not looking forward to it.”

Boromir could not suppress a smile, but he replied with a growl.

“Get your hand off my ass, elf, before I knock you halfway to Mordor.”

“Try it and see what happens,” Legolas murmured, pinching him hard before vanishing among the trees. When Boromir looked up again, Faramir was walking toward him, his hand extended. Boromir took it and shook it firmly, then, feeling silly, pulled his brother into a tight embrace.

“Keep an eye on father,” he said.

Faramir nodded. “I will. Be careful, Boromir. I do not like the dreams I have had about this journey.”

“Your dreams are always wrong,” Boromir said, rubbing his hair affectionately. “Didn’t you dream you were the one going on this journey?”

“I think… perhaps I was supposed to,” Faramir said. “But something changed. Perhaps all will be well. When Sauron is defeated and you come back to Minas Tirith…”

“You will be the first person I want to see, little brother. Be careful on your journey home.”

They both reluctantly turned away, Faramir to mount his horse and depart, Boromir to attend the council that Elrond had called that morning. From Elrond’s office window, Aragorn watched both men.

“Perhaps I made the wrong decision,” he said.

Elrond laid a hand on his shoulder. “Of all those on this journey, Estel, you are the one we can least afford to have doubting himself.”  
Aragorn nodded, straightened his back, and marched out to join the council. 

 

....................

 


End file.
